The Most Important Meal of the Day
by Curly McJimbo
Summary: Some of the best and worst moments of Blaine's life have happened over a breakfast table. Puck/Blaine


_One of my favourite things about my flatmates is that we eat breakfast and dinner together everyday, even if it means getting up at 6.30 or having dinner at midnight. I had a plot-bunny during breakfast, and this happened. Enjoy. _

* * *

The last time Blaine can remember having breakfast with his parents occurred when he was seven years old.

It was before the constant disappointed expressions that became ensconced on Emily and Andrew Anderson's face at their younger son's sexuality appeared. Cooper had only just moved out, and they were celebrating his father's promotion with piles of homemade pancakes, perfectly cooked bacon and big mugs of milkshake.

Everyone had been smiling and laughing, Emily piling more and more pancakes onto Blaine's plate as his eyes went wide as saucers.

If he'd known that was going to be the last time, he would have had an extra few pancakes. His mother made fantastic pancakes, he should have had more when she was still willing to cook for him.

* * *

He's 13 when he has the breakfast he'll never forget with his brother. Cooper had cooked waffles, and the only conversation preceding his bombshell was _pass the syrup _and _you better clean that up_ and _peanut butter on waffles? Are you mad? Oh, wow, that is fantastic_.

"I'm gay." Blaine blurted out, and Cooper gaped for a moment. Eventually, the 19 year old found his wits again, frowning at his little brother.

"You're 13."

"I've known since I was 6." When he'd realised Tony Smith was pretty and Angela Jones was boring. Cooper frowned a little more, and Blaine started to worry.

"Have you told Mom and Dad?" Blaine shook his head, and Cooper sighed. "B, you know I'll always be there for you, but don't expect them to take this well, okay?" He reached across the breakfast table, resting a heavy hand on his little brother's shoulder and forcing Blaine to look at him. "If things get bad, you can come stay with me."

"I'll be fine, Cooper." Blaine believed it, too. Even if it went badly in the short time, it would sort itself out in time, Blaine was sure. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to sleep on the floor of his brother's tiny dorm room. That place was beyond dirty.

* * *

He wasn't fine.

Blaine told Emily and Andrew Anderson that he was gay two days after he told Cooper, after his big brother had returned to California. It was a weekend, and for the first time in years, the three of them were sat around the breakfast table. Blaine was eating pancakes, store bought, but his parents stuck to coffee, and although it was weird and a little awkward, it was far better than Blaine imagined it would be, and so, in the seconds before he told them, it flashed across his mind that maybe, just maybe, it will all be okay.

It wasn't.

He can take it all, the disbelief of his father, the unrelenting anger of his mother, until his mother throws out the word _abomination_ and he's running to the toilet, throwing up, crying, punching things, and he can hear his father through the door, telling Blaine to come back, to finish the conversation like a grown up, to eat his pancakes.

Blaine stuck to black coffee after that.

* * *

The rest of the Warblers boarded, Blaine was the only day-student, which bothered him at one point, but he soon got over it. The only time it continued to bother him was at breakfast time.

He was pretty sure Wes knew, Wes had this way of reading people like the books he loved. Blaine made it to the school for breakfast sometimes, and would sit and drink his morning coffee as the boarders enjoyed their cooked breakfasts, but he lived too far away to do it everyday; he would have to leave home at 6.30, and that just wasn't practical.

It wasn't that he missed the food. It was the fear of missing out on life. He so often heard from David or Thad about the _amazing event_ he missed at breakfast, and he hated missing out. Wes tried to make it seem like nothing, that breakfast was a boring event, and sometimes it was. When Blaine made an effort to come in, it was almost always boring.

At his previous school, he'd never really had friends to miss out on, and now that he did, he so often felt out of place, unsure of how friendships worked, friendships that weren't built on mutual fear of the outside world. He wanted to be there every moment to savour the companionship, to revel in the friendships that were forming.

It wasn't until his final year at Dalton, the twelve months that preceded his move to McKinley, after he had been made Captain of the Warblers, that he began to accept that he didn't _need_ to worry about being there for every little moment, that for every breakfast event he missed, there were four awesome moments during the day that he was present for.

It was in that last year that Blaine finally felt included in something bigger than himself, and he'll forever be thankful to the Warblers for that.

* * *

The morning after Rachel's party, Blaine was almost certain that Burt was planning a slow and painful death for him after _shattering his son's innocence _(also known as passing out in separate beds with not even the slightest bit of sexual contact, but Burt didn't seem to believe that).

The night before had been interesting, to say the least. Blaine'd had a secret crush on Kurt's friend Puck ever since he'd met him; the boy was attractive, athletic and a nice guy, once you got past his douchey moments. Seeing him all over the girl Lauren had sucked, but kissing Rachel as retaliation was low.

But then Puck had pulled him into the shadows at the end of the night, placing a short, blistering hot kiss to his lips, before pulling him back into the main room, pushing him into Kurt's arms, and ordering Kurt to take him home, and now Blaine didn't know what was happening with that boy.

"Aren't you going to eat something?" Kurt asked over his plate of fresh fruit, and Blaine's stomach rebelled, primarily from the hard alcohol causing havoc in his stomach, but also from the memory of the last time he ate breakfast, the uncomfortable curl of disappointment still aching 4 years later.

"I'll pick something up on the way to Dalton." Blaine affirmed, picking up his bag and heading for the door. He considered thanking Burt for having him stay the night, but decided that would cause more problems than it solved, so left with a wave to Kurt and Finn, sliding out of the front door almost silently to pick up a black coffee from Costa on the way to Dalton.

* * *

The first time Blaine slept with Noah, they had been dating for almost 3 months. Blaine's parents were away for the weekend, and Blaine was determined to make the most of it, lacing his fingers through Puck's and pulling him into the house after their Friday night date. They'd fallen into a relationship with such ease, despite the disparaging comments from almost everyone, and Blaine had come to really depend on Puck.

Which is why it hurt so much when, the next morning, he rolled to curl into Puck, only to find a pillow in his place. The bed was empty and cold, and Blaine told himself he wasn't going to cry, wasn't going to give the thousands of dissenters the satisfaction of knowing that _Puck will be Puck_, _he'll hurt you_ because what they'd done could be meaningless, if Puck was going to run, well, at least they'd had a fun night. Blaine could move on.

If only Blaine believed that.

But then. Noise, from downstairs. Blaine felt the hurt clawing at his chest recede momentarily, his entire body completely focussed on the muffled sounds rising through the house, which sounded remarkably like singing. Climbing out of bed gingerly – it had been a _fun_ _night, _after all – Blaine padded quietly through the house, following the sound of singing to the kitchen.

He practically fell against the door frame, aghast at the sight before him. Within seconds, Blaine thought his face would split in two from the smile that sprung there, and he felt like an absolute fool for failing to believe in Puck.

The boy – man – that Blaine had been so quick to condemn minutes earlier was stood by the stove in just his boxers, dancing and singing to an imaginary backing track. Judging by the glorious aroma coming from the hob, he was making some kind of cooked breakfast, and Blaine took a moment to enjoy the play of muscles before him, Puck's back tensing and loosening with a sinewy slide that made Blaine's insides tense. He slid the food from the pan onto plates, opening and closing draws in the search for cutlery.

"_Your sex is on –"_ Puck span, finally spotting Blaine at the door and jumping a mile in the air. "Holy shit!" He exclaimed, clutching his chest and resting a hand on the kitchen island for a moment. "Man, don't sneak up on me like that, it's way too early…" He trailed off as Blaine approached, wrapping his slim arms around the jock and leaning up to brush their lips together. "Hey." Puck smirked, nodding over to the plates on the countertop. "I made breakfast."

"I can see that." And from his place in Puck's side, he can see that the eggs look a bit pathetic, but the bacon and sausages look spectacular, and Blaine wasn't really that surprised that Puck knows how to cook meat but nothing else. "Thank you."

"No problem, babe." Puck gave Blaine a small squeeze, hand gripping at his waist comfortingly. "You're going to need your energy for when I take you for round two in twenty." Puck winked. Releasing Blaine, he picked up the two plates, and Blaine half expected him to take them through to eat in front of the TV, because Puck had been all _dude, do you get sports on that bad boy? _the night before, but the jock surprised him yet again, placing the two plates down at the breakfast table and sliding into one of the seats. Blaine walked over slowly, his step faltering minutely as he stares at the plate on the table. "Dude, you want me to help you into your seat? Because I will, but I will mock you for the rest of the day for being a girl."

"The rest of the day?" Blaine's eyebrows slide up his face as he sits down, his smile sliding up to match.

"It's Saturday." Puck replied. He had returned to devouring his breakfast, pausing occasionally to grin at Blaine. "You got any big plans? My plans for today involve seducing a certain curly-headed Gleek, again, and again, and again." Puck stated, a shit-eating grin working it's way onto his face. Blaine smiled back, realising as his lips move to smile that he was chewing. He glanced down, realising his plate was already half-empty, and he grinned at Puck again. "And maybe tomorrow morning we can try my famous pancakes with bacon and sausage." Puck's hand curled its way into the locks of hair at the nape of Blaine's neck, pulling him into a kiss as soon as he'd finished the mouthful.

"I'd like that." Blaine replied. Once it had been thoroughly established that Blaine had no real plans, and the ones that he did have could be cancelled, Puck set about seducing Blaine. He succeeded, again, and again, _and Oh God again, _until Cooper came back and Blaine realised he'd completely forgotten about his planned visit and his older brother had been all "Hey little bro-my god what are you _doing on the breakfast table_?" and totally ruined Puck's mojo.

The breakfast the next morning had been an unbelievable mix of seductive winks from Puck and declarations of disgust from Cooper, who insisted on eating his pancakes standing up in the corner furthest from the breakfast table, despite having forced the pair to disinfect the table a million times the previous day.

Cooper wouldn't kick Puck out though, Blaine knew that much. Because, despite everything, Blaine was sat at the kitchen table, _eating breakfast, _and not just any breakfast, _pancakes, _and Cooper'd been trying for _years_ to get his brother back to eating the most important meal of the day, so Cooper was beyond curious as to what pull this stupid haired jock has over his little brother.

It took Cooper another few months to work out that Puck wasn't controlling Blaine through blackmail, or voodoo mind magic, or lacing his pancakes with weed, but love, pure love, and hell, if that's what it took to make his little brother eat his Goddamn pancakes, Cooper wouldn't complain. He'd question his brother's taste, for sure - no one's made the Mohawk work since the 1970s - but he couldn't question the fact they loved each other.

Which is why he holds the sarcastic comment that touches his lips months later, when he walks in on the pair smooching at the breakfast table over plates piled full of pancakes. He rolls his eyes, but stays silent, grabbing the plate of extra pancakes from the island - Puck really does make a fantastic stack of pancakes - and slinking into the living room, because really, morning cartoons were far better entertainment than tweedle-dumb and tweedle-dee, and if Blaine had found happiness in a warm plate of pancakes, then good for him, he deserved a break.

Cooper just really hoped they could keep it off the breakfast table in the future.


End file.
